I wait. Bent over, hands on the chair, legs "properly" spread as instructed.
"Properly" meaning that you can see, well, everything.
I can feel you behind me, your gaze upon me, drinking in every detail.
I'm embarrassed by how turned on I am. The anticipation, the position, your stare, they all combine to heighten my arousal, which must be obvious to you, standing there.
I don't dare move my feet, but I try and clench my legs, my cheeks, in such a way that I can maybe hide my modesty a little.
"Don't even think about it."
You are quick to spot my aim.
I desist. I stay here, unmoving, bent over. Waiting.
You swish the cane a couple of times. The noise alone makes me flinch, sending shivers of fear and arousal through my body.
And I wait for the first stroke, fear and longing coursing through me.
Waiting for the cane to bite.
22 hours ago